


What Dean Wants

by VeraBAdler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Blow Jobs, First Time, Human Castiel, M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3289430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler/pseuds/VeraBAdler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester <i>really</i> wants to suck a dick.</p><p>Meant as a simple PWP but then <i>feeeelings</i>. I can't shake the shmoop, apparently...</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dean Wants

Dean Winchester _really_ wants to suck a dick. 

He's done it before. Plenty of times, actually. There have been willing guys, here and there, over the years. Hot little trysts in the Impala, in a bathroom stall, out behind a bar. And before that, well, he did what he had to do to take care of Sammy. Someone had to make sure there was money for his brother's food and money for his brother's books, even when Dad was gone for weeks longer than he said he'd be. So yeah, he's done it before, and he's liked it.

But he's never _wanted_ it like this. He's never craved it, thought about it, drooled for it, fucking _dreamed_ about it like this.

And it's not just about the act this time. It's not about going out and finding somebody because he's horny and wants to get his rocks off. It's not about going out and finding somebody because he's broke and his little brother's whining about dollar-store mac 'n' cheez for dinner _again_. It's not about going out and finding somebody at all.

In other words, he doesn't just want to suck _any_ dick. Dean Winchester has a particular dick in mind.

…

He can't say when he started thinking about it this way. It's not like he's really ever _not_ thinking about sex, on some level, and he's had a lifetime of experience reading people and picking up on the vibes of a situation. His instincts are keen – he can sense when someone wants to fuck him just as easily as he can sense when someone wants to kill him. So it's not like he's oblivious to the energy that crackles when Cas stands close to him, or to the absurd length of time that Cas will hold his gaze. And let's be real: Castiel is, even by celestial standards, utterly beautiful.

So yeah, the angel has featured in his private fantasies on and off since they “met” in that barn in South Dakota. No big deal. Dean's private fantasies have always been kind of an equal opportunity employer. The list of people that Dean has thought about while jerking it features everyone from Dr. Sexy to Asia Carrera, Captain Kirk to Drew Barrymore, Han Solo to Princess Leia to Lando Calrissian to Princess Amidala to Darth Vader (pre- _and_ post-Dark Side). Just about every hot bartender and cute librarian and flirty police officer he's ever encountered has gotten a turn in Dean's solo daydreams. His fantasies are well-populated and wide-ranging.

At least, they used to be well-populated and wide-ranging. Now he can't seem to get off if he's not thinking about his best friend. He can't really make it over the edge if he's not picturing Castiel's cock fucking his face. He can't quite finish until he touches his own lips, trying to imagine the taste of the angel in his mouth.

And that's it. That's what drives him crazy. What would the angel _taste_ like? Would he taste just like every other guy Dean's ever sucked, or would there be some holy flavor, some top note of nectar or aftertaste of manna? Dean's gotten close enough to Cas by now, pressed together on a hunt or in a diner booth, to know that he smells _awesome_ – like fresh air and old forests and electricity. He wants to know if his friend tastes just as good. He wants to know the sounds he'd make when he comes – would that gravel-and-whiskey voice get even lower? Would he talk dirty? Would he get quiet? He wants to know what he'd act like in bed. Would he be passive? Would he be pushy? Dean can't stop thinking about it.

It gets to the point that Dean's instantly half-hard as soon as Cas shows up. Whenever the angel takes time off from his work in Heaven to join them on a hunt, Dean knows that he'll be needing “special shower time” morning _and_ evening every day while they're teamed up. Every time Cas gets that bad-ass smitey look on his face, it takes everything the hunter's got to keep from just dropping to his knees right there in front of him.

Dean Winchester _really_ wants to suck a dick.

…

Of course, it's after a hunt when he finally cracks. Sam goes out to blow off some steam at a bar down the road and Dean's alone with Cas in the motel room. They're both bruised and sore but wide awake, still pumped from the kill.

Cas is talking passionately about... Something. Who knows. Dean stopped listening five minutes ago in favor of watching Cas' face, the way his blue eyes shine, the way his full lips move. 

Between one breath and the next, when Cas is still in the middle of a rambling sentence about ancient Coptic rituals and their relevance to modern vampire culture or some crap, Dean leans forward and kisses him. It's hard to say who's more surprised by this, but neither of them pulls back or hesitates, even slightly. They surge forward, pressing together – mouths opening, tongues meeting, hands coming up to grasp shoulders, necks, faces.

It's amazing. It's better than Dean had ever imagined it would be, kissing Cas. It's also nothing like enough. He shifts his weight forward, pushing Cas back onto the bed. The angel falls willingly, gracefully, and he's beautiful – laid out on top of the ugly motel bedspread, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, breath coming in sharp pants. Dean wants to take this so slow, wants to spend hours worshiping his friend's body from head to toe. He wants to savor this perfect moment, locked in his angel's gaze – make this last all night and into the next morning. He wants to spend days making love to Castiel.

He climbs onto the bed and presses himself full-length against Cas. Their mouths connect again, deeply. They wrap their arms around each other, pulling their bodies even closer together, and Dean's hard cock presses against a matching hardness in Castiel's suit pants. At this sweet pressure, Cas makes a noise that's half soft moan, half breathy sigh. It's the hottest thing Dean's ever heard, and a shudder runs through him. He realizes then that they're not going to be taking this slow tonight; in fact, if he doesn't get his mouth on his lover's cock within the next two minutes, he's pretty sure he'll die.

He kisses Cas one more time, soft and slow, then pulls back and looks him in the eyes. He's not an eloquent man, so he tries to convey with a look everything he's feeling in that moment – the hunger, the passion, the desperation, the fear, the hope... The _love_. Something of his message must get through, because Cas gasps, " _Dean_ ," and it seems like he's about to say something else, but the hunter stops him with one more kiss, a chaste peck on the lips this time. They can talk later. Right now, there's something Dean needs more.

“Cas, want you so bad. Wanna taste you,” he murmurs, fingers moving deftly over the buttons on Cas' dress shirt.

While Dean's hands work on Cas' clothes, his mouth never leaves his lover's skin, peppering little kisses along his jaw, in the fragrant hollows of his throat, across his collarbones. Once all the shirt's buttons have been undone, he lavishes attention on Cas' nipples, sucking and licking them each in turn to hard peaks.

“Oh, Dean, _yes_ ,” Cas sighs, bringing his hands up to stroke through Dean's hair and to keep his mouth in place a bit longer. Dean gives each nipple one more taste, then pulls away gently to move further along his friend's beautiful body.

He nibbles a rib, leaves a little kiss in Cas' belly button, and licks along the line of soft hair that leads down to his waistband. Beneath him, Cas is all moans and sweet, soft sighs. His hands range restlessly through the hunter's hair and across his back. He murmurs, words too quiet or too angelic to be understood.

Dean's fingers fly eagerly to Cas' pants. He unbuttons, unzips, pulls down pants and boxers, pulls off shoes and socks, and just like that Dean's kneeling on the filthy motel carpet, still fully dressed in his fed suit, marveling. Castiel is lying on the bed, completely naked except for his unbuttoned shirt, splayed beneath him like wings. It's every one of Dean's dirty fantasies made glorious reality.

He's gorgeous. He's breathtaking. He's _exquisite_. He's all Dean's. And Dean is not going to wait any longer to have him.

He works his way back up his lover's body, hands sliding from the arches of Cas' feet, up his hairy calves, to the insides of his thick thighs. His skin is wonderfully warm and soft here. Dean can't resist – he leans in and runs his tongue from Cas' knee in towards the crease of his groin. He tastes like sweat and musk and ozone. Dean can feel himself becoming addicted to the flavor.

Swaying back, he wraps his hands around his angel's hips and flicks his eyes up to Cas' face. Cas looks relaxed, almost asleep – his eyes are closed, his brow smooth, his hands at rest on his stomach – but Dean can feel the tremors running through his frame, hear him panting for air. Dean's thumbs, nestled against those sharp hipbones, register his pounding pulse.

Sweeping one more glance over his lover, he croons, “So beautiful,” before leaning in again and running his tongue in a warm, wet stripe up Cas' cock from root to tip. Beneath him, Cas fucking keens, his hands flying back to Dean's head and tangling lightly in his hair. Cas' reaction is so intensely erotic that the hunter has to quickly press the heel of his hand against his crotch to keep from coming in his pants then and there.

Once he's calmed himself down, he dives back in. Starting again at the base of Cas' cock, Dean leaves soft, wet kisses all along the shaft before swirling his tongue around the tip and sucking lightly. He's rewarded with a burst of flavor in his mouth – sharp and bittersweet, with that same addictive ozone tang. Dean moans in his throat as his jaw tightens with the taste. The resulting vibrations drag a groaning, garbled noise from Cas. It might be Dean's name. Dean finds the thought – his name in Cas' mouth while Cas' cock is in his – unexpectedly arousing.

Once again, the tension in his own body increases. He's sweating like a whore in church, still wearing every piece of his suit, and he's not sure how long he's going to be able to draw this out before he goes insane. He sucks again at the head, _hard_ , and his angel writhes beneath him. Dean immediately lets his mouth go soft and slack, pushing himself slowly down until Cas' cock bumps the back of his throat.

He's grateful that he still has his hands wrapped around Cas' hipbones; Cas moans long and loud, overwhelmed, his body's movements clearly beyond his control, and the hunter has to work his arms hard to keep from choking as the angel thrusts forward sharply. He pulls back so that his lips are wrapped around the head of his lover's cock again, caressing it with his tongue and gentle suction.

He quickly gets into a rhythm – alternating deep dives that take all of Cas into his mouth with bouts of special attention to the tip. In some ways, this is just like every blowjob he's ever given; a dick's a dick, after all, and Dean's got his technique _down_. But there's something else here, too, something that's keeping him from just going on autopilot.

Maybe it's knowing that the man he's worshiping right now is _literally_ worthy of worship – this is _an angel_ he's going down on. Maybe he's not powered up right now, and maybe he never will be again, but Castiel was made out of stardust, handcrafted by God himself. 

Maybe it's just the fact that this is Cas, _his_ Cas. His right hand man, his brother in arms, the love of his fucking life. In this grotty old motel room on this nothing-special Thursday night, Dean has everything he's ever longed for here beneath him, gasping and moaning and writhing in pleasure.

For all that Cas is obviously struggling to keep it together under the skilled assault of Dean's mouth, Dean feels like he's on the brink of flying apart himself. His senses are overwhelmed, overcome. The soft, silky weight of Cas' cock on his tongue is intoxicating. The flavor of him, astringent and electric, fills Dean's mouth like rich wine. The smell of his skin is exquisite – musky and warm. His lover's voice, flowing from soft mewls to _basso profondo_ groans, washes over him like a symphony.

Dean pulls away, and Cas' cock falls from his mouth with a soft sound. The sound Cas makes in response is anything but soft. He wails, frenzied, and for a moment he scrabbles at Dean's head, fingers buried in his short hair, twitching and grabbing, trying to push Dean's mouth back down. “ _Dean_ ,” he gasps, “ _what_ –”

The hunter leans up and kisses him, once, firmly. He nuzzles Cas' neck for a moment, rubbing against the rough stubble on his jaw and the silky skin below it. He whispers in his lover's ear, his voice barely a breath, “Shhh, Cas, don't worry, I'll get you there. I just... I just need to tell you something first, before I lose my nerve.”

He pulls his body back so that he's crouched just above the angel, not touching him anywhere, but so so close from head to toe. Cas stills below him, draws two deep breaths and visibly attempts to bring himself back under control. Blown blue eyes find green and lock on. The moment lengthens, pulling like hot glass. Dean has something he has to say. It can't wait any longer.

“I love you, Castiel. I've been in love with you for so long. I don't even remember when I started loving you. I want you to know...” He clears his throat and continues, “I want you to know that I don't want this to be a one-time thing. I want us to be like this all the time. If, if you want, if...” 

He trails off, suddenly unsure. He has no idea, now, where he'd gotten the confidence to finally unburden his heart. A moment ago he'd been sure that it was the right thing to do, that Cas felt the same way, that this was the start of something amazing. But as soon as the words leave his mouth he begins to second-guess himself. What if he's read it all wrong? What if Cas thought this was just a hookup – a little stress relief after a rough hunt? What if Dean's just fucked everything up? What if – 

He's yanked abruptly out of his high-speed panic spiral by the feel of his angel's lips, hungry and wet against his. Cas is kissing him, devouring him, murmuring against his mouth, “I love you, Dean, _Dean_ , my darling, my beloved, always loved you, Dean, _oh_ , please touch me, my love, please, _please, my Dean_...”

It's everything he's ever wanted to hear. Underneath his itchy fed suit (seriously, _why is he still wearing this fucking thing?_ ), he feels every inch of his skin flush and tingle. The urgency that he'd felt before rushes over him again like a tidal wave. He scrambles back down his lover's body and swallows him whole. He hollows his cheeks, works his tongue against the shaft, makes his mouth as wet and soft and perfect as he can.

Cas calls out hoarsely, Dean's name the only word on his lips. He sobs his pleasure as his hands rise up to cradle Dean's head once again. His cock pulses and he comes, flooding his beloved's mouth.

Dean swallows it all, drinking him down greedily. He sucks and licks and loves on Cas' cock until there's no more pleasure to be given him, and then he stretches himself back up to his angel's mouth and kisses him deeply.

Cas raises his trembling hands to Dean's waist and hastily undoes his belt and fly, pushing his pants and briefs down over his ass. He wraps his long, elegant fingers around Dean's neglected cock and caresses him. It only takes a few strokes before Dean is peaking, gasping, painting Cas' stomach white in long stripes. Cas kisses him through it, placing words of love inside Dean's mouth all the while.

…

Later that night, after they've cleaned each other off and Cas has helped Dean out of that fucking suit, when it's dark and quiet and they're wrapped around each other in one bed while Sam sleeps his night off in the other, when it's the absolute dead-end middle of the night but neither of them can sleep because neither of them can stop smiling, they kiss and touch each other gently and whisper together about nothing, about everything. Every loving word they've ever longed to say to each other is finally said. As the sun begins to rise on a nothing-special Friday morning, they finally fall asleep in each other's arms, warm with the knowledge that something amazing has begun.

**Author's Note:**

> Believe me, I was as surprised as anyone when Dean Winchester decided to stop _in the middle of sex_ to have a romantic moment. What a fucking dork. Those two deserve each other.
> 
> Rebloggable link [here](http://blessyourhondahurley.tumblr.com/post/110069332111/what-dean-wants-verabadler).


End file.
